Sergei and Roxane Mortal Engines Fanfiction
by Questionable Origins
Summary: The beginning of the adventures of the mercenaries, bounty hunters and aviators Sergei Gregorovic and Roxane Carmes. A fanfiction on the book


**Sergei and Roxane**

_Author's note: this fanfiction is set on the post-apocalyptic Earth devised by Philip Reeve in his book Mortal Engines. Several millennia ago, the world as we know it was destroyed in a nuclear holocaust. This caused massive climatic imbalance, with subsequent volcanic disturbance, drying of the seabeds and extension of the ice caps. As a defence against attack, some of the surviving cities mounted themselves on tracks, wheels, runners or skids. Others took to the few remaining seas with flotation devices, and a few opted to remain static. As time passed, the reason for the so-called "traction cities" was lost in the mists of time, and the technology that had created them was also lost or destroyed. The rulers of each township had to find a way to provide for their citizens and to keep their cities moving, and so began to prey upon cities smaller than themselves. Eventually cities built great deconstruction yards within their bellies, and converted the deck-plates of their towns into jaws for devouring captured towns. This philosophy of "survival of the fittest" became known as "Municipal Darwinism", and is now all that can be remembered about the time before the traction cities. No-one sets foot on the ground, and technology is such that the airship and the electric light are still items at the forefront of development. Weaponry ranges from swords and daggers to phosphorus bombs, unguided rockets and machine guns. Piracy is rife, both in the form of air-pirates and entire pirate towns, and there is little mercy for the weak and defenceless._

Chapter I – Aftermath

Sergei stood on the darkened bridge of the_ Papillon Noir_, his lithe form draped over the wheel in a manner suggesting intense disinterest, even boredom. It was night, a time ordinarily fraught with danger for aviators; the darkness concealed the land below, making navigation all-but impossible without accurate charts and instruments, and risk of attack by pirates, rogue townships or any one of a hundred other factions had been increased tenfold since the news had spread about the destruction of London. There was no doubt that the fall of the once-proud city held the promise of change in world order, Sergei mused to himself. At the very least, it would provide rich pickings on the Hunting Grounds for the next few days; rich pickings that he intended to exploit.

Sergei slouched at the controls, lazily glancing at the instrument panel before resuming his bored vigil, listening to the comforting throb of the oxhide engines, and the rain pounding on the armoured gas-envelope and fortified gondola of the airship. He was bored, and quite willing to admit it. Born an aviator, he had long ago lost his taste for sitting the night watch; the darkness held no fears for him, and besides, he was tired and needed to sleep. Taking out his antique pistol, he went over it for the hundredth time that night, lovingly polishing it, checking the breech and hammer before slipping on the safety-catch and replacing it gently in its holster on his belt. Casting his eyes over the bridge, he noticed a pool of shadow darker than those surrounding it. Lit by the faint glow of the instrument panel, his face cracked into an uncharacteristic smile. "Roxane. Your concealment skills haven't improved much yet". A frustrated intake of breath followed his statement, and then the figure of a girl stepped from the shadows into the dim light surrounding the wheel. She was of medium height but slim build, with long brown hair, soft dark eyes and, at that moment, a furious expression. "That's not fair! You hadn't noticed me up until then!" She protested. "True" the man conceded, "Those hours of practice have obviously done you _some_ good". The girl's eyes flashed at this statement, and Sergei help up a hand. "Let's not argue about it. Now, are you going to take the helm for a while? I'm shattered, and I have to get my head down for a few hours." She nodded, the anger leaving her face as quickly as it had arrived, "You go and get some sleep," She said softly, moving to take the wheel from him. "I'll wake you in the morning."

"Thanks" Sergei turned to go, and then turned back. "Roxane?"

"Yes?"

Sergei gave her a wry smile "To be perfectly honest, I didn't notice you back there. I have to confess, you're getting better".

Sergei left the bridge, moving silently through the body of the gondola to his cabin. Turning on the single argon globe that hung from the low ceiling, he stared at his reflection in the small, dirty mirror for a moment, noting the tired lines under his eyes and his unshaven chin. He rubbed his face, and laughed to himself. "You're becoming too vain, Sergei Gregorovich." This, he reflected, was not true; he took his appearance seriously, as he did every other aspect of his life, but he never let it dominate his thoughts. An aviator could not expect to look young and fresh every moment of every day, he knew, and the last few days had provided him with very few opportunities for rest. A good night's sleep and he would be refreshed, and ready for whatever the Great Hunting Grounds could throw at him. With this thought Sergei shrugged off his long coat, stepped out of his boots and settled into his hammock, surrendering himself to sleep with a contented sigh.

***

Waking early the next morning, Sergei peered out of the cabin porthole to be greeted by dull skies, bringing with them the promise of more heavy rain. With a grunt of irritation, he rolled out of his hammock, pulling on his boots before recovering his heavy flying coat from the chair-back where it had been thrown the night before. He sluiced his face with a little cold water from a steel washstand in the corner and hastily shaved, grimacing as he passed the razor gently around a long scar running across his cheek. Shrugging his hair back over his shoulders, he stepped out of the cabin into the body of the _Papillon_. Making his way up to the bridge of the elegant craft, he helped himself to a steaming mug of black coffee from the kettle in the cramped galley, and breakfasted hurriedly on a few dry biscuits. He stepped onto the bridge and was immediately greeted by Roxane, looking as refreshed and alert as she had the night before. This was of no surprise to Sergei; the young aviatrix seemed to be able to go days without sleeping, with no evident ill effects.

"Good morning Roxane. Has there been any news of London?"

"Nothing, Sergei. It doesn't look like there were any survivors"

"Expecting survivors after an accident of that magnitude would be expecting too much, Roxane. Whatever Old-Tech their accursed Guild of Engineers was fooling around with obviously got the better of them. There's no mercy for the incompetent, and no forgiveness for fools in this world. That's what Municipal Darwinism's all about" Sergei said coldly, stepping forwards to look out of the bow observation windows at the ground below. Roxane said nothing; she knew that the death of a city always upset Sergei, the same way that it upset her, and for the same reasons. To those few who knew him well, Sergei could be read like a book, she thought, and today he was listless and depressed. It would take a few days for him to regain his composure and become his usual sardonic self again.

Staring through the observation windows, Sergei could see the smoke plumes of a pack of predator-suburbs heading in the direction of the wreck of London. They didn't bother him; such small towns were built for speed, not attack, and posed little threat to the _Papillon_. However, he thought, what they had been feeding on was probably worth a look. Such a large number of scavengers meant that a sizeable city must have been brought down a few days ago and, even allowing for looting and damage from other cities, there would still be some useful equipment to salvage. If nothing else, he could re-fuel the oxhide fuel cells that powered the engines of the airship before heading back to the newly repaired Airhaven.

"Roxane, backtrack along the path of those suburbs" He ordered, "They may have left us some scraps to feed on." She dutifully adjusted the helm, and the airship swung gracefully to its new course, heading in a more Westerly direction. 

Looking anxiously at the figure of her fellow aviator and tutor, Roxane wondered if she would ever truly know him as well as she had thought; even after this long, he could still surprise her. She had never seen him quite as agitated as this, nor as coldly quiet. Something about the destruction of London had upset him deeply, she knew. Normally he would never lower himself to plundering from an old kill, and she pondered as to why he was so interested in it. This far East of the hunting grounds, it was unlikely to be an important city, and the likelihood of finding anything worthwhile was very small indeed. Did he know something that she hadn't picked up about this whole business? His knowledge of ancient artefacts was certainly excellent. Possibly that was what the matter was. Sergei did not suffer fools gladly, or indeed at all, and the thought of apprentice engineers playing around with some of his beloved Old-Tech could well have disturbed him this much, she thought. She herself had little interest in such things. After all, they had no application in the modern world, so why bother with them, the Frankish girl wondered. It was far more important to concern oneself with the here and the now, to focus on the present to avoid being sucked into the past with all its horrors…

She shook her head as if to clear it, aware of the mental chasm she had just avoided, and Sergei turned around, concern on his face.

"Roxane? Are you alright?" He asked quickly.

"I-I'm fine. Just a memory. It's nothing" She reassured him.

He still looked worried, and made as if to take the wheel from her, but she resisted.

"I'm fine. Really, I am. Don't worry. You know what it's like; that feeling of loss…it never really leaves you."

Sergei stood back, looking thoughtful. "Yes, I know that. As do you. That's why I worry."

"I know, but please don't, Sergei. I can cope. We've been through worse, both of us. I'll be fine."

Sergei still looked doubtful, but was not about to question the courage of his fellow aviatrix; after all, he reminded himself, she was right. They _had_ both been through worse.

"Alright then, Roxane. If you're sure you'll be ok…" His statement hung in the air as a question, but Roxane shook her head.

"I'll be fine, Sergei. Don't worry, please."

Sergei nodded, business-like once more. "Good. We'll have a quick look at the city before we head back to Airhaven – you never know, there might be something worth salvaging. Even the deconstruction teams can't have managed to find _everything_, so we could still make a profit from this. Let's go."

Roxane gently opened the throttle, and the deep throb of the powerful motors became a little louder. The gondola lurched slightly as the increased thrust took hold, and the airship accelerated off into the West, towards the blurred smudge that marked the kill-site of the fallen city.

*** 

Almost three hours had passed since Sergei had sighted the predator suburbs, and now the _Papillon_ hovered silently a thousand feet above the ruined city. Sergei and Roxane stood at the observation windows, both silenced by the sheer horror of what they saw below them. The city was completely destroyed, atomised by some horrendously powerful force. The buildings that were still standing were melted and fused into fantastic shapes, morbid sculptures in a desert of rubble and fused glass. Countless fires were still burning on all decks, and massive structural collapse had occurred at several points, with entire tiers falling in on themselves. Only the impressive palatial building on the top level had survived with marginal damage; a huge, Gothic structure which had, despite its strength, been twisted and charred by the energy that had destroyed the rest of the city. On its burnt façade could be read the words "_Wilkommen nach Panzerstadt-Bayreuth_". Casting his eyes down over the rest of the city, Sergei could see that nothing had survived the attack. The roads and avenues could still be made out under the wreckage, blacker shadows against the grey stone, but nothing more. Looking further down the tiers, Sergei noticed that a section of deckplate had been ripped away, leaving an immense gash through which the innards of the city could be seen protruding. He took the helm, manoeuvring the _Papillon_ slowly over the hole, and turned on the powerful searchlight that hung on the underbelly of the gondola. Casting its beam into the depths of the cavity, he and Roxane peered down, into a vision of chaos that Quirke himself could not have imagined. The engine-rooms of the city had been pulverised completely by a monumental discharge of energy. The boilers and generators had quite literally exploded, sending house-sized fragments of debris flying with enough force to rip up the decking and destroy the bearings upon which the city's tracks had run. The tracks themselves had become unlinked, and lay on the mud under the city like enormous snakes, half-crushed by the driving wheels.

Sergei sat, staring at this site of cataclysmic destruction for a long time. He could not imagine what horrendous forces had been unleashed upon this city to wreak such havoc, but he knew what had unleashed them. The Ancients had developed weapons like these, and used them in the Six Minute War all those millennia ago. Weapons that caused artificial suns to light up the sky and harnessed the power of the Universe itself, some said. All of those stories were probably closer to myth than truth, he thought, but the devastating forces unleashed during that violent age had certainly proved sufficient to destroy cities. If someone had since discovered one of those weapons and worked out how to re-activate it, that could certainly explain the destruction of _Panzerstadt-Bayreuth_. And, he mused, it could also provide an explanation for London's unexplained self-destruction, too. Yes, he thought, that would be the style of their wretched Engineers; always tinkering with things they couldn't understand. Eventually he sighed, dragging his gaze away from the carnage below. "Come on Roxane. Let's get back to Airhaven."


End file.
